'Demon Rum' vs Happy New Year!!

In the world of consuming of alcohol or drugs, the word spirit is often heard, very often in jest when one’s spirits have been elevated, sullied or dampened by ‘demon rum.’ There is no time, and definitely not in these holidays, for alcohol or other drugs to be consumed in quantities that allow for one’s personal spirit to be seconded to these chemicals. 

There are many that would disagree, and disagree heartily, with me. Possibly even accompanied by guffaws and raucous laughter. However, I have seen, know and very likely been related to many who have ultimately succumbed to some form of chemical spirits, forever leaving only memories of the lives they lived ~ the fragments of their true spirits shining through a watery, wavering chemical aura.

This time of year, and especially this evening, has too great a potential for tragedy to arrive suddenly and without warning while spirits are altered. 

Please be careful out there, don’t drink, drug and drive - and have fun!!

“All that spirits desire, spirits attain.”

~  Khalil Gibran

End of the Year Book Review 2014 ~ Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts

This massive work is challenging, not just because of its size but because of the wildly colourful life led by the protagonist. Linbaba has come to Bombay on a false passport and visa to escape authorities from Australia. Escaping over the wall from prison in Australia, he disappears into a slum of Bombay. Becoming part of the community, learning to speak the languages and participating in the life of the slum, he develops lasting friendships built on survival and trust. He allows himself to be loved and taught by his new community. His life moves into criminally lucrative involvement with the Bombay mafia where he learns forgery, money laundering and the skill of creating false passports and identification. A strange discontinuity of morals, philosophy and crime are taught by his mentor and boss, Khaderbai. Unrequited love mingles with Linbaba’s longing to belong, to be loved, while he desperately misses his home and family in Australia. 

Within the first twenty pages I could smell and hear the sounds of Bombay and was drawn into the colourful chaotic spirit of the story that is many times joyous and tender. Later, there were times when I was tempted to put down the book, but the writing and story telling kept me intrigued about the next charming or the next dangerous adventure. Was Linbaba adventuring, searching or just surviving in a foreign land? 

“I don’t know what frightens me more, the power 

that crushes us, or our endless ability to endure it.”

~ Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram

Tree Spirits

Trees

Springing forth with life ~

pregnant with green buds and pink tipped blossoms

Sun warmed coloured froth overhead

Trees

Redolent residents of summer

Throwing shade in light blankets of softened green while song birds nest in netted branches

Trees

Painted ladies and gentleman of autumn

Flamboyantly playful fragments of leafy colours

Gentle breezy drifts or busy swirls in random eddies

Trees

White ice cold diamond studded beauty

Deep brown and black open coats braving the cold

Wild winds brushing lacy branches against the sky

“I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree…..”

~ Joyce Kilmer

From the Same Root ~ 1

Parent and Child

Both affected by active addiction,

return to their separate and together roles.

Verbal battles raged and calmed.

Addiction arrested and behaving as if not present.

Spirits dampened and cleansed.

Minds and bodies broken and healing.

Parent and Child

Both awakening to recovered sobriety,

welcome each other to share in growth.

Conversation gently unfurling about life and living.

Addiction arrested and known for what it is.

Spirits brightened and opening up.

Minds and bodies strengthened in readiness for what is to come.

“Words are a pretext. It is the inner bond that 

draws one person to another, not words.”

~ Rumi

Holiday Happenings

Time for respite and rejuvenation of mind, body, and spirit
Needs that need money 
don’t allow for sickness, 
especially in detox for the unpleasantry of withdrawal.

Active addiction, like any illness, doesn’t take holidays.
Man or woman, wanting to be rid of addictions’s hook, uses holiday time as an opportunity.
Getting well ends one cycle before the Old Year cycles into the New Year.

“The greatest wealth is health.”

~ Virgil

An Answer for Why?

Why?
A good question for the curious.
Verbal fascination for the child beginning to explore the world.
An annoying question when it confronts a parent’s knowledge of the world.

Why is the sky blue?
Why does the moon look different tonight?
Why are there big people and little people?
Why are there cars and bicycles and buses and why don’t we all ride horses?

Why?
A child’s curiosity about the world opens with the first tiny curl of a newborn’s finger.
New young spirits expand as curiosity is answered and nurtured.
Questions and answers begin a dialogue with life and living in baby talk and baby steps.

“There is frequently more to be learned from the unexpected 

questions of a child than the discourses of men,……..”

~ John Locke

Hang'em High

From a light standard in a parking lot,
Santa faced a bank of windows.
The spirit of Christmas matched the spirit of romance!

“There is no charm equal to the tenderness of heart.”

~ Jane Austen

A Christmas Eve Memoriam

Dexter

I think that I knew that it would be a last good bye.

Last weekend, I put my head against Dexter's old black brow for a last time not knowing, but guessing, it would be a last time to feel such silky softness. 

From fluffy, busy puppy 14 years ago, to a handsome, grand old man, Dexter still had a playful spirit. While his heart was willing, his body suggested he pushed his limits!

A gentle and kind dog, he tolerated and welcomed new pups, and most other dogs - as long as they behaved.

Dexter, you will be missed by this ‘grandma’

“The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven not man’s.”

~ Mark Twain

Are You Ready for Christmas?

“Are you ready for Christmas yet?” If I heard that question once, I have heard it a thousand times in the last two weeks. We all hear it every year and it always conjures up images of shopping in noisy, busy malls filled with reels and reels of Christmas music and racks and shelves of abundance. Other images are of presents to be wrapped and cards to be addressed or e-sent, cluttered living rooms, Christmas trees and grocery shopping filling up the to-do lists. Those days are long gone. Lacking the patter of little feet - whether grandchildren or grand-dogs - shopping has dwindled and cards are practically non-existent. Checking the mail for Christmas cards is not longer a daily event. Admittedly, I have seldom written the traditional, for some, Christmas letter. My traditions, if one can call them that, are limited.

I have been an employee of some health care system for most of my adult life and many Christmas Eve and Day was spent at my place of employment. I am not alone in that part of life. Many employees, not just health care workers, but police, firemen and paramedics are only a few folks away from their families and at their places of employment. Finding spaces to have a bit of the flavour of Christmas, without feeling burned out from working, and shopping, and wrapping and…….well, you get the picture.

So, am I ready for Christmas? Yes, I do believe I am. Sunday I spent the day cooking my turkey, gravy and an array of vegetables. (I didn’t make dessert as desserts and chocolates are in abundance at work). Staff will be having a pot-luck supper at work on Christmas Eve. My contribution? An apple crisp with cranberries, caramels and chocolate chips. On Christmas Day, after work I am taking roasted potatoes and carrots with rosemary out to supper at a friend’s house. And the usual consequence of Christmas dinner? Leftovers for so many dishes that I love, including my little ‘frozen dinners’.

There are so many folks out there unable, for a host of reasons, to have an enjoyable Christmas or to be close to even one family member. Getting ready for Christmas is the farthest thing from their minds, but a tattered fragment of Christmas spirit may have a tiny corner of their hearts. Those of us that are scheduled to work at Christmas can maybe create a bit of Christmas inside the environment of our work places. And if there is great sadness or tragedy, some support and kindness where there may be none available.

“A lovely thing about Christmas is that it’s compulsory, 

like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.”

~ Garrison Keillow

Walking with Magic

Walking with Magic

Christmas music filtered through the air. Snow flakes fell silently. There was no reason for him to be out on the street after all the shops were closed, but Harold wanted to feel the silence when the shoppers had gone home. He wanted feel the calm that descended outside the streets and houses, only disturbed by the distant clop clop of a horse drawn carriage returning home.

His home was warm and the aroma of turkey and mince pie curled in the humid kitchen. His children were busy putting the finishing touches on the presents, hiding their work from each other. In the morning all their work would be torn apart in the noise and excitement of Christmas morning. His wife, busy with her own preparations, had shooed him out of the house, aware of Harold's Christmas Eve ritual.

Every Christmas Eve night, Harold would take this walk in the silent night. His reason, which he didn’t speak of, was to see if, just maybe, he would see Santa Claus fly across the moon or through the clouds. Yes, he was almost forty years old, but the magic and spirit of all the Christmases of his childhood had never left him. He had never ever seen Santa Claus except at malls, parades and Christmas pageants. Harold was always grateful to the people that donned the red and white, taking children on their knees and offering just a tiny bit of the magic. Yes, it was all staged and from the world of ‘just pretend’, but it was a bit of fantasy come to life.

Harold wrapped his long scarf around his neck and buttoned his coat a little tighter. He was now the one in the family to don the ‘red and white’ and be that Santa Claus of Christmas magic. A job he looked forward to every year, even if he didn’t have a sleigh and a team of flying reindeer.

After climbing the steps to his front door, he turned and took one last look up into the night sky. Snow had stopped falling. Clouds had shredded and opened up the sky. Tonight was now clear and star studded, the silver moon rode high, tossing diamonds into the fallen snow. Harold waved and hoped no one was watching. Smiling he returned to his family, closing the front door gently behind him.

“For in every adult there dwells the child that was, 

and in every child there lies the adult that will be.

~ John Connolly, The Book of Lost Things

Assignment ~ Essay on Expectations ~ Repost

Essay on Expectations

‘Expectations - realistic or unrealistic  - are woven into the fabric of our lives. Based on experiences all the way from childhood, information coming to us from trusted sources, and the immediacy of the events of a day………….’

Hmm....that sounded like a good start to her paper.  After school, Cara, 14 years old, finally sat down to write her essay for class - tomorrow’s class. It didn’t really matter, because she had never liked Mr. C. anyway.  Anything she did for his class was half-hearted at best. In the morning, her mother and father had been talking about expectations while they were all having breakfast. Actually they were complaining about Christmas and all the things they are supposed to do. Her dad complained about all the money that he had to spend. She guessed that they were arguing rather than talking. She remembered rolling her eyes at all their moaning and groaning.

“We did it this way in our family! And we always had a real tree - and not one from a lot. It’s all about the experience - you know family going out in the snow to cut down their tree, then coming home to hot chocolate and a fireplace...”  Her mom had got all misty eyed and trailed off so far she overflowed her coffee cup.  Another real eye roller.

“Well, we did it this way in our family, and it always worked out. Would you please get in touch with reality! Forget a real tree, even one from a lot. The fake one we got last year with all the lights already on it is just fine. When all the living room lights are off you can’t even tell it’s not real. And besides that think of the trees that get saved!”

“What about all the fuel it takes just to make all your old fake trees! David Suzuki must have some research on that. And a real tree can be chopped up for firewood - at least it could if we had a fireplace - and all those needles would be good mulch. I have to look that up to make sure, though.”

“Getting all that fuel keeps a lot of folks in jobs. And what about all the presents you think we need to get for the kids. They expect more and more every year. For heaven’s sake they’re teenagers! They don’t even believe in Santa Claus anymore and you want us to go through all the drama that comes with it?”

“But they expect to have ‘all that drama’! There wouldn’t be any Christmas spirit without it! Oh heavens, do we have to have this same discussion every single year?”

“Honey, do you remember how we always sort it out?” Her dad's voice smiled at her mom. Weird.

“Hush, dear. It’s a good thing that Michael has already left for school, but Cara might be listening. Can we discuss it in more detail this upstairs this afternoon?”

Cara, a master of thumb typing had been quietly and under the table, writing the opening line to her essay on her cell phone while the two of them argued. Rolling her eyes one more time, she went off to meet her girlfriend, before she got so dizzy she couldn’t walk. The rest of the essay could wait til after school.

“Does your reality match your expectations? If not it’s time

to change either your expectations or your reality.”

~ Steven Redhead, The Solution

Control

Blindsided

Suspicion coiled inside

Anxious explosion threatened

Breathing, Pacing, Breathing, Pacing

Focus vanished

Thoughts lying to spirit

Bubbling, spewing…forehead creased

Breathing, pacing, breathing, pacing

Brain cleared

Focus regained

Explosion thwarted - this time

Breathing slowed, pacing stopped…...sleep.

“You can’t control all the crazy stuff that happens to you.

All you can control is the way you handle it.”

~ Amy Lee

Personalities

When I think of spirit 
I think of bright and sassy

When I think of spirit
I think of calm and quiet

When I think of spirit
I think of creativity and play

When I think of spirit
I think of shape and form

When I think of spirit
I think of laughter and fun

When I think of spirit
I think of qualities within each of us.

“Look beneath the surface; let not the several 

quality of a thing nor it’s worth escape thee.”

~ Marcus Aurelius,  Meditations

And the Screen goes Black!

Technology hums along 
Sending and receiving messages and information
Speeding up work with electronic systems and programs
Making colourful busy play literally at many finger tips

Until programs freeze and screens go black
Our spirits freeze, our eyes glaze over, paralysis threatens

Then ~ we must resort to ‘old school ways’
Paper, pencil, telephone - and heaven forbid!  
Face to face talking - real communication with each other - real people
Real board games...real card games

Technology is fascinating and amazing
Technology has enticed us away from living with each other, 
isolating us within our own homes and circles
Technology has offered us so much connection with each other,
connections that were lost when miles were too great
Technology hums along but only at our own whims or needs.

“It has become appallingly obvious that 

our technology has exceeded our humanity.”

~ Albert Einstein

Second Re-Post of Mr. Snappy’s Christmas Adventure

Re-Post of Mr. Snappy’s Christmas Adventure

Mr. Snappy, the old snapping turtle, slowly closed big dark glassy eyes. His big swaying head disappeared into the safety of his cozy shell. Just settling into his afternoon nap, he heard snuffling at the edges of his shell.  

Then he was violently rocked back and forth!  Snapping his head out from under his shell with powerful neck muscles, he growled:  “What’s going on out here!? Didn’t you see that my shell was closed for the afternoon!? That means I’m not home! Not available for your silly games. Remember!?”

It was Ellie. A very excited little grey elephant. Ellie cried out to the old turtle  “Mr. Snappy! Mr. Snappy! It’s Christmas time in the human’s village!”

“Christmas time!” Snappy snorted through his sharp, curved mouth. “Why did you wake me up for that? It’s Christmas time every year at this time. And every year some humans are happy and some humans are sad. And a lot of humans get things that they don’t even need or want. All I need and want is some peace and quiet so I can take a nap! So go away and leave me alone!”

Ellie, the little grey elephant pouted “But Mr. Snappy, the human children down at the oasis are having so much fun gathering all manner of things. They said they’re going to decorate their homes for Christmas. They’re having so much fun! What is Christmas anyway?” Sighing and tipping her little grey head, grey floppy ears to one side, her tiny, grey trunk drooped sadly.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you about it? Why don’t you go ask her and let me sleep?” Ellie was kind of scared when Mr. Snappy sounded so grumpy. “She’s gone off with the herd. She told me to come and find you. So there!”

Ellie’s mother, Mattie, matriarch of a small herd of elephants, was an old friend of Mr. Snappy. About the same age, Mattie and Mr. Snappy had grown up together remaining fast friends for many years. So, when Mattie had matriarch duties to attend to, she sent Ellie to stay with Mr. Snappy.  

Ellie was always proud that she gone on her own. She didn’t know that her mother kept her in sight until Ellie was safely there. Ellie liked her visits with Mr. Snappy partly because she was taller than he was, but mostly she liked Mr. Snappy’s stories. At home with the herd all she saw was dumb old elephant legs. Everyone was taller than she was.

“Mr. Snappy, you can’t nap now. You have to tell me about Christmas.  Mother said that you knew all about it!” With that she plopped down on her soft grey bottom, threw her little trunk up in the air and started to cry. It was a funny braying sound making the stalks of grass quiver and Mr. Snappy shiver. Big tears rolled down her little elephant cheeks.  

“There, there.  Don’t cry.” The gruff old voice had softened, but only a bit. “I’ll tell you what I know. It happened a long time ago when I was a tiny turtle, smaller than the bottom of your foot. Then I was bright green with little dots of red. I was small, but quite handsome.”  

Mother Turtle always sheltered us very close to the oasis pond so we could slip in and out of the water easily. At night, she made sure our shells were closed up tight when it was time for us to sleep. One night, we tiny turtles had just gone to sleep when the ground started to shake so hard that it scared us wide awake! Peeking out from under my shell in the darkness, all I could see was what looked like big hairy trees with sharp rocks at the bottom. I learned later they were the long legs and hooves of camels. The very camels that would take me on an adventure." 

“Shh,” Mother Turtle whispered "The humans are talking about where they had come from and where they are going." One human in long beautiful robes said 'The star is still in the East. It hasn’t moved! It’s been the steadiest guide I have ever seen."

Mr. Snappy continued, “Mother Turtle told us the men, each from different lands, were following a bright star they had seen in the east. They had each been drawn from their different lands to follow the star's bright light that shone so steadily. Unknown to each other, the three men had finally come together at the very oasis that Mother Turtle had sheltered us in.”

“What did you do? Did your mother make you go back to sleep?” Ellie whispered.

“I only pretended to go back to sleep. As soon as I saw all the other turtle shells rocking gently in sleep, I scurried over to the closest camel. I crawled inside the sack that drooped down onto the desert sand at his side. I wanted to see where they were going. I wanted to go with them. I didn’t know that I would be going so far and would not to see my family again for many days.”

“Then what happened?” Ellie was still sitting where she had plopped when Mr. Snappy had been so grumpy with her, but now the little ears were opened like two soft grey pink lined fans. Her tears had dried up and her big brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Her little grey trunk poked the air impatiently with each pause of Snappy’s low and slow voice.   

“In the morning, three big camels, carrying their three humans on lumpy camel humps, rose slowly to their feet. The soft sack swayed, tossing me into a corner where all manner of things were jumbled together. One of the camels, Calvin, had seen me crawl aboard the following night. Hearing me sniffling in the sack at his side he groaned a deep camel groan “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of you.”

After two long days and two long nights through the dry desert plain, the camels finally stopped. With another groan, Calvin said “Looks like we’re here. Where ever that is.” He slowly knelt down to the ground, making sure the sack at his side was stretched out on the sand. I crawled up to the edge and listened to the camels' riders.

The first human muttered thoughtfully 'That star has led us here, but there does not look to be anything of value in this desolate looking little town!  How disappointing."

The second said "Don’t be so certain. We haven’t seen inside of any of these buildings yet." 

The third human said "Let’s take our camels to the barn for water and feed. We can stay here for the night and study where we are in the morning light."  

Mr. Snappy said  "I still couldn’t understand their words, but it sounded like one was disappointed, one was curious and the other was patient."

 “Well then, how do you know what any of them said?”  

“Calvin translated into turtle talk, of course!” Mr. Snappy snapped.

“You still haven’t told me about Christmas!”

“Slow down, little Ellie, open your ears up again and listen. We went to the barn that night, expecting it to be quiet and dark. Opening the barn doors into brightness, the three men were surprised. And there was, in the middle stall, a little human family gathered. The bright light was from the star we had followed and it shone over them. And in the manger was the tiniest human I have ever seen. He was clothed in blankets and lay on a bed of straw. That picture of Christmas has stayed with me ever since.”

“That’s Christmas?! I thought it would be something exciting like the presents that the human children are gathering”

“No little one, it’s not. Christmas is a birthday. The birthday of the human little one who carried a glowing spirit-light from that beautiful, bright star. As he grew and lived his life, he shared that spirit-light with all that needed or wanted it.”

“So humans think that presents are the just like a light?”

“Unfortunately many do. What many have not understood is that giving is the spirit-light of Christmas and is more important than all of the presents.”

“So if I give my mom a flower ~ or give you time to nap ~ am I being sort of like Christmas?”

“Yes, you certainly are.”

“But that happens any time, not on any special day.”

“I know, child. That also means that you can give Christmas presents all year long to anyone you feel like.” 

With that, Ellie set about gathering flowers in her tiny trunk to give to her mother who would soon be home. Curling her little trunk around Mr. Snappy's old brown shell she said softly “Mr. Snappy, you go for your nap now and I’ll make sure that my mom doesn’t wake you up when she comes to get me. Merry Christmas.”

“Every gift which is given, even though it be small,

is in reality great, if it is given with affection.”

~ Pindar

Timing ~ 2

Too early and too late
Too early for memory
Too late for good-byes

What should be said
How should it be said
Is there any right time to speak love and loss

The spirit of motherhood has passed ~
early and late ~ from hands and hearts of our mothers
to those mothers remaining on this earth

Too early and too late
Too early for memory
Too late for good-byes
But never too late to live as they would have lived.

“The timing of death, like the ending of a story, 

gives a changed meaning to what preceded it.”

~ Mary Catherine Bateson

"Good on ya!" Victoria Athletic Club

Each year the Victoria Athletic Club, holds a Christmas Party for all the members and has a draw for several valuable door prizes. (Three of the draws are for Thai massage - I didn’t win any!) On top of that, they collect donations in food or dollars from each of us to go to the Mustard Seed Society here in Victoria, in a genuine spirit of giving. 

Attending tonight’s party was, for me, stepping out of my comfort zone. First, I went on my own, assuming with my fingers crossed that some of my Aquafit class would be there. Secondly, I was tempted to stay at home, which is what I too often do to keep myself small and away from the world. 

My cynical, or maybe realistic, side says ‘What a marketing tool!’ and I suppose that this party and all it’s accoutrements is a fair bit of shrewd marketing.

But my more caring side says ‘Good on ya’! The mounds and bags of donated food stuffs that were loaded on one of the large carts that carry the luggage of tourists and travellers will be welcomed at the tables of many in this city that can’t just go to the store as frequently as many of us - or maybe not at all.

The community of exercisers and swimmers, practitioners of yoga and Pilates, was a community I hadn’t seen in anything but spandex swimsuits and sweat stained t-shirts or track suits. Here we were - all dressed up for this lovely evening of great prizes, lots of conversation and laughter, good food, a variety of beverages and an opportunity for gift giving.

“It takes each of us to make a difference for all of us.”

~ Jackie Mutcheson

The Great Airport Race

I returned to Victoria today on a wing and a prayer ~
The wing compliments of Westjet - actually two wings.
The prayer was needed for getting to the gates on time! 
First a long trudge through Regina Airport’s snaking lines at security, divesting myself of boots, jacket, laptop, etc., etc. ~ putting myself all back together before walking quickly to the first gate with a mere five minutes to spare.

Once seated on the plane, it was time to pause and read and trust the plane, the pilot and the weather. 

We landed. Quickly gather everything up and get moving! The flight attendant assured me (sort of) that I would make it. It was a tight schedule for my plane change in Calgary airport  - 
No jogging or running for this person, but striding out in the manner of the walking group was a serious asset.  
Racing up to the gate - this time with no minutes to spare, my spirit flagging and barely any breath left I boarded an already full plane. 

The kindness of my seat-mates allowed me to squeeze relatively gracefully into my window seat for another reading and napping session. Then off again into the western skies.

Phew!  
Home and hungry, my short jaunt to Regina has become another precious card for my memory file.

“Running through airports with pounds of luggage ~ that’s a good workout.”

~ Rachel McAdams

A Christmas Foray

A Christmas Foray

"When do you think Santa’s coming?”

My brother, Sam, and I were whispering because we weren’t supposed to be awake. And we definitely weren’t 
supposed to go downstairs. Santa had not even been here yet! We really had tried to go to sleep, each in our rooms separated by a short hallway. As soon as our parents closed our doors and went downstairs, we opened our doors so we could call to each other. Going back to bed, eyes closed tight, we both lay stiff and still, even pretending 
to snore. We were certain that even pretend snoring would help us to go to sleep, or at least prove to our parents that we were asleep. All it did was make us giggle destroying any attempt at quiet and calm. Our spirits were too excited to even feign sleep but we really tried to quiet ourselves once we heard the all too familiar “You kids be quiet! Santa can’t come if there are any giggling kids around.” Each of us grabbed a stuffed toy and cuddled under our covers, eyes shut tight again, but the stifled giggling wouldn’t stop.

“Your mom and I are just going outside to take Butch for his walk. Then we’ll be in the garage for a few minutes. Now, you kids settle down.” Butch was our brown and white English bulldog that we had gotten for Christmas two years before this Christmas Eve.

As soon as we heard that we would be alone in the house, we both popped up in bed as though someone had released a catch on a spring. Eyes wide open now, fingers in front of pursed lips we tiptoed to the edge of the stairs holding out breath. I had jingle bells on my red Christmas slippers that made too much noise and that my brother thought were dumb. He always went barefoot, so I took my slippers off and went barefoot too. Just as we reached the top of the stairs, we heard the garage door slam shut.

Sam said “Come on. It’s safe to go downstairs.”

Our bare feet cold, we stepped carefully on the thick carpet at the top of the stairs, and listened to make sure there was no one in the house.

“Sam, aren’t you glad Butch had to go out?”

“Yeah, he would be making too much noise.  He doesn’t know how to be quiet like us.”

Satisfied that there was just the two of us, we edged down the stairs, our little hearts beating fast.

“Oh, look at the lights!  Aren’t they beautiful?”

“You can’t even see them yet!  What are you talking about?”

‘Brothers!’ I thought and then said “Of course you can’t see them but the glow from them is beautiful.”  

Out loud, Sam said “Well then, why didn’t you say that.”

“Shhh.  We have to be quiet”

“Why? There’s no one here.”

“If we talk loud we won’t hear if anyone comes in! So just be quiet...”

This conversation carried us down the flight of four stairs to the landing and, rounding the first step after the landing, the Christmas tree came into full view. It was glorious with all the lights reflecting off of Christmas ornaments and tinsel. The tinsel had been hung a absolutely perfectly - each strand draped delicately beside the next. The sparkle and glitter was softened at the top by the lights under the cloud of angel hair. Our Christmas Angel, with the family for as long as my eight year old mind could remember, rode high atop the magical tree, her hand out in welcome, her wings set to fly.

My brother raced ahead of me. “Wow! Look at all the presents!”  

The amazing eight foot tree stood in a corner. Out from it’s lower branches was a circle of presents that had not been there when we went to bed. Our stockings, the old brown ones that we had to wear to school every day were limp and waiting expectantly for Santa.

Then we froze. The back door opened and before anyone could see us we raced back upstairs, closed the doors to our rooms quietly, jumped into bed and looked like we were asleep by the time our parents came in to check on us. They closed our doors softly behind them on one more exciting Christmas Eve.